Focus
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: Written for the reverse bigbang on the lj community, collaboration with justlook3. As much as she had always complained about Jane, asking for help wasn't her best trait as well, but right now she didn't have any other choice. Because she had to save him from the nothing he had become. Too bad she couldn't, not alone, at least. She hated asking for help. jane/Lisbon/S.Miller
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Focus

**Rating: **T

**Summary**: As much as she had always complained about Jane, asking for help wasn't her best trait as well, but right now, she didn't have any other choice. Because she had to save him, save him from the nothing he had become. Too bad she couldn't, not alone, at least. She just hated asking for help…

**Disclaimers: **No, nor the characters or the show belong to me. And this time around, there is not even an original character to claim as mine…

**Notes: **Written for the reverse bigbang - on the Livejounal mentalist bigbang community , collaboration with **justlook3**, who provided the art that inspired and goes along with the fic; also, it may contain small references to past seasons of the show.

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Among the many things Teresa Lisbon claimed to be, she had always assured to be strong and independent. That was why, even at a young age, despite everything that was happening with her family back then, she never asked for help; she never liked the feel of being small, unimportant, fragile like a porcelain doll, and she hated the looks of pity she knew she would eventually receive. She knew she was an hypocrite: she had always been the first one begging Jane to ask for help, let the team on his schemes, despite doing herself the opposite with him as well.

She hated having to ask for help, but this time, she didn't have any other choice, an besides, technically, she wasn't asking to get help for herself; Jane was the one in need, Jane was the one so deep into it he wasn't even seeing it, despite the evidence being right before his eyes.

Still, when she lifted her tiny fist to knock on the door, she hesitated for just a fraction of second, biting her lips, tempted to just turn on her heels and leave, and deal with the situation on her own – despite being almost positive there wasn't' much she could actually do about it.

"Agent Lisbon, what can I do for you?" Sophie Miller's voice was as soft and musical as the first time she had heard it, over seven years prior, but still, there was something very… different about her, it wasn't just because of the age, she just seemed less stressed and anxious than last time they had meet each other, there was some peaceful quality that come to her with age, and probably, peace of mind. Even her hair were different, no longer of a different shade to impress the man of the hour, but natural, and with white and grey all over the head. It was in moment like those that Lisbon knew that Jane had been right with his evaluation of the scientist; she had even saved her the stress of having to reflect upon her decision, coming to her first. And Lisbon didn't need to read minds to know that Sophie had seen her walking on the side of the street for over 15 minutes- she had seen the doctor as well.

"Would you like a coffee? I have a fresh pot in the kitchen… I think there's enough for two." Teresa nodded, and entered, focused suddenly on her feet and on the doctor's back; not for the first time she felt at loss of words, she felt like she didn't know how to explain herself, and yet, she had the feeling Sophie knew more than she was letting believe. She was almost (almost being the magical word) sure that Jane hadn't called the woman, but she assumed that Sophie Miller wasn't the naïve little child her (former) consultant claimed her to be.

"I've heard of Red John" once again it was Sophie to start the conversation, smiling of a little, sad smile to Teresa, who had been silently stared at the cup of dark liquid between her hands for what she had come to realize had been over 15 minutes. Of course the doctor had assumed something was wrong. Even a blind-deaf would have guessed as much by now, and Sophie Miller, like Jane had told her more than once, was good at her job. "I'm glad he cannot hurt any longer. you and your team did well."

Once again, before speaking, Teresa nodded, and this time, instead of her shoes, her attention was focused completely on the cold, dark liquid- that remembered her so much of the pain she had endured in the last few months. "That's why I'm here, Miss Miller. Well… part of the reason, at least. Jane… he didn't take it that well."

_He was pacing the attic, one hand on his hip, the other kept running through his curls; his breathing was heavy, his face pale, almost grey out of exhaustion. He was clear to anyone he hadn't bee sleeping lately, and more so to Lisbon. She wasn't him, that was for sure, but they had worked together for over 10 long years; it wasn't like she had taken few tricks from him along the road, simply, she had gotten to know the man behind the mask, and what his tells were. _

_This wasn't worrying her, though; what was warring her was that he was in Red John mode, crazy, focused on his goal alone, with no carrying for the people around him; actually, she wasn't simply worried, she was worried, scared and mad with him, almost livid. He dared to talk about treason with her, when he had been the one to force her hand on the matter. _

_"What the hell were you thinking, Lisbon?" he hissed, close to her, so close she could feel his hot breath upon her face; it wasn't the first time it happened, not was the first time her body automatically responded with a shivering spine, but this time, there was nothing erotic or teasing about it, she could see, feel his rage, and it scared her, scared her like never before. "You should have never followed me!"_

_"Well, then, maybe, you should have covered you tracks better. But then again, you never thought things completely through when Red John was concerned" her voice was so low, so trembling, she wondered if he had heard her at all, but then, when his fits collided with the wall with a sound of crushing bones; she closed her eyes, resisting the need for crying, knowing that it would have made things just worse in a matter of seconds if she did._

_"_Was_" she had told, "was", not "_is_", and that was what got him, the use of the past tense. _

_"I told you what I wanted to do with him! You knew it! I begged you times over times to leave him to me, but no, Saint Teresa has to always walk in the middle of situations that don't have to do with her, she has to be the savior, the fixer of all things broken… he was mine, Lisbon, mine, he had to pay for what he did to my angels, and yet, you.. you…."_

_She heard the sound of heavy steps, quick steps, walking away, and when she opened her eyes, she collapsed on the floor, and all the tears she had somehow kept at bay in the last few days, finally erupted while she held herself like for dear life, the emptiness and coldness of the room were her very portrait, a portrait of solitude and sufferance; still, she kept her strength, and followed him outside. _

_She thought he couldn't do anything worse than saying those horrible words to her. She was wrong. _

"I haven't seen him in over six months" Teresa continued, taking big breaths like to calm herself down, her emotions just made all the worse by Sophie's sympathetic hand on her own; Still, Teresa, when looking at the cerulean orbs, didn't see pity, but compassion, and the desire to help. She wondered if it was because she felt like she had failed with the man as well, just like she did, time after time. "I am… _we are_ all worried about him" she corrected herself at the last minute, and her eyes were suddenly back on her feet and on the wood floor, a slight blush coloring her cheeks out of frustration and shyness. In any other case, Sophie would have found it amusing and sweet, now, though, even if she didn't know that well Agent Lisbon - and sometimes she felt like she didn't know Patrick Jane at all – deep down she knew that this little woman was very proud, and she would have never asked for help, especially to her, not if she could have helped it, not unless it was a live or death matter.

But, still, even after all this years, even after over a decade, she still felt like Patrick's therapist, she still felt like she had to take care of him, had to protect, even from the ones- the other ones- who claimed who wanted to help him. it had always been in her, that nursing instinct, and that was probably one of the reasons she had chosen her line of work, but Patrick Jane had just made it… worse, had increased her pathological need to help people out. The fact that she now owed him her own freedom… well, it was an added line on the long list of reasons why she had to think about Patrick first.

"Agent Lisbon, I know you probably want me to tell you that you should run to him, that you want to hear the words you are supposed to tell him, but the thing is, I can't. Patrick… Jane" she corrected herself immediately, biting her own lips, and not for the first time, looking at her lowered eyes, at the crimson color of her cheeks, Lisbon wondered if Miss Miller had never crossed the line with Jane, if her former consultant had never asked the woman for comfort in the form of sex, or, at least, allowed her to believe so. Teresa Lisbon, Teresa the woman, the majority of the times, could say that she didn't know Patrick Jane the man, despite all the gossip and her secret dreams, but the cop in her knew too well the man driven by revenge, the natural born manipulator, and she'd not be surprised to know that he could have used sex to get to the other woman, to let her know, believe, that he was safe and sound in her arms, ready to embrace the world once again. "Jane has always been a very driven man. It was his way to compensate his particular lifestyle as a child and a teenager. To not feel an outsider, to be able to mend, to… forget himself and his life, to survive, in a certain sense, he had to focus on an aim. First it was the boy-wonder number, then it was his family and his work as a psych, and then, it was Red John and his need for revenge. Those things, were all the things he breathed for, and now that Red John is gone, he feels like he has nothing left. He feels like the killer and vengeance have been stolen from him, he doesn't have any longer his family nor his former work. This way, he has time, time to think, and I assure you, right now his mind is so filled with thoughts he doesn't know what to think any longer… but still, he probably feels compelled to grief as well, something he has never done properly."

Teresa shook her head, biting back the tears, and silently, she took a piece of paper from her jacket, holding it to Miller, allowing the woman to examine it. "I don't want to force Jane into anything. I know he needs time, and I know there's a chance he'll never return, I've always knew we were just tools in his hands in his personal war, ok? I'm not stupid, and I care for him enough to know that he needs to be free right now. I just want to… I don't want for him to be alone right now, and… he needs someone helping him, to go to him and tell him what he should do, because this time he'll not ask for help again, and… I know, ok? I know I can't be that person, and I know he'll never want me to!" She didn't scream, nor cries, but yet, as silent as she was, as hard as she tried to, silent tears still escaped, and she hated it. Never look weak, that was her mantra, and never show what her truly weakness was, caring, loving, fixing. Jane.

She was disgusted with herself, and she didn't know why. She didn't wanted to be there, and yet she had to; she didn't like to ask for her, hated it, actually, but yet she had to; she had never asked for the complication of Jane in her life, never asked to be the fixer, the enamored little girl, and yet, she was all those things, she couldn't help it. She was everything, and yet she was nothing- at list, for him, at least, yet, and maybe never.

And as silent tears filled Lisbon's eyes, Sophie, in that moment, saw a myriad of emotions- sadness, fear, affection, and yes, love as well – in the green gems; she took the sheet, Teresa's hands unmoving, not trying to fight, not trying to resist, and her blood turned cold in her veins, because she didn't like what she was reading there. She didn't like that Agent Lisbon was right: drinking, gambling, drugs, fights, conning….

Jane's self-destructive behavior had definitely taken a turn for the worse, and she didn't know how much she could do about it, didn't know if she could actually listen to Teresa Lisbon's prayers. She'll try to talk, but she can't make any promise, can't say he'll listen to her. He may be beyond saving, this time- that is, if she saved him at all the first time around. A long time ago, she thought she did it, that she had fixed Patrick Jane. Now, she wasn't so sure any longer.

She didn't even say at loud the words, didn't dare to make that promise, because she wasn't sure she could actually keep it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimers: **No, nor the characters or the show belong to me. And this time around, there is not even an original character to claim as mine…

**Notes: **Written for the reverse bigbang - on the Livejounal mentalist bigbang community , collaboration with **justlook3**, who provided the art that inspired and goes along with the fic; also, it may contain small references to past seasons of the show, and all my appreciation to everyone who alerted, favorited or left even just a word. you're so great!

* * *

She didn't hire a private investigator, nor she asked for the CBI to look for him- she wasn't even sure that the team, with, maybe, the exception of Lisbon, would actually try to look for Jane, to heal him. Words had been spoken, promises had been broken, and nothing could be taken back. The injury would, slowly, heal, and the body would become accustomed to the pain, but she knew that nothing could be the same ever again – a scar would remain, and the pain would be back every now and then, just a nuisance, but yet there - if not with a lot of trust and work involved, and right now, she wasn't so sure that Jane was ready to commit himself to such a thing, despite the fact that he _had_ to: he was hitting rock bottom, and there was only one thing left to do, rising back.

Or maybe, dying, but she didn't like to think about it, _couldn't _think about it, she realized taking a big breath. She couldn't admit being a complete failure, not again, it was for his sake and for hers as well. A long time before, Jane told her she was a healer, she was good at fixing people- as much as she could actually fix – he told her to give up on research, and so she did. She returned to what she thought she was good, because she thought she had… saved him, or maybe just healed him a little bit, but if he would hit rock bottom, then… She didn't want to think about, she just didn't. She couldn't have failed at this as well. She needed to save him for his sake and hers as well, because, otherwise, there was nothing left.

Closing her eyes, she took a big breath, and entered in the smoky, stinky and dirty bar of Vegas almost on tiptoes, like she was scared of actually getting sick- not that it looked like something so hard to accomplish- then opened her eyes, and after less than a couple of minutes, here he was, right where she thought he was – Jane, at the center of the bar, under a metaphorical spotlight, playing cards – poker, cheating, obviously, and she didn't even need to know that to be sure – with a couple of girls – _whores, _she'd like to call them, but she was too much of a lady to even think it, let alone saying it out loud – in his lap. Half drunk, like Lisbon told her he liked to spend his time, unclean, unshaved, disheveled, with deep, dark circles under his red eyes- even under the black one, with a crowd around himself and yet… alone.

As alone as he had never been in over a decade, and not for the first time Sophie wondered back to their time together, when he was her patient. He had been alone, back then, her his only connection to the world, and sometimes to reality, and right now, here he was alone, even if this time it was for choice, his own choice, even if he had believed it to be the right thing to do, the only thing to do. A sentence returned to her, no man is an island- not even Patrick Jane, even if… even if it was probably how he felt, how he had always felt. He was all alone growing up, at the side of a father who didn't see a son but a way to get money, he was all alone after that Red John robbed him of his only real treasure, his family, he had been alone when he had tried to push the people who cared about him, saw him as family, away, and he was alone now. Because he felt like he had to. And it was her job to make things right, because, if she had any doubts, they just vanished: it's not that she wasn't sure she could save him, it's that she couldn't afford not to.

Taking yet another breath, she slowly walked towards the table, eyes focused on her, on her feminine body, on her designer clothes, and they kept eyeing her when she sat at the poker table, not asking for cards, but simply inspecting Jane, hands under her chin, like he was some sort of animal in a zoo or on Discovery Channel; he didn't try to talk to her, didn't openly acknowledge her presence - just a quick, almost a ghost, movement of his brows tell her otherwise- so she takes matter in her own hands, like she should have always done. "Hello Patrick. I'd like to tell that it's such a pleasure seeing you here, but I'd lie."

He smiled one of his smile, and she wondered if he thought she was stupid, because she was not. She knew, now, when he was faking, could recognize one of his faked smile. -and it was one, she could bet on it- still, thought, he remained speechless, at least towards her, like he was oblivious to her very presence. She grinned, because, still, despite having probably failed at healing him, she had gotten, somehow, to know the man, a little, and she knew which buttons she was supposed to push with him- or the people around him, like those Neanderthals.

She just breathed a single word, grinning. "Chicken."

He didn't even reply to her affirmation at first, didn't bother to. Like he hadn't bothered to pay attention to many things in the last few months, like his past, and the people from it- the majority of it, at least- and Sophie wasn't an exception. Sophie was just like everyone else he had met in the last 10 years or so- or maybe his whole life- a mean to an end, a pawn in his hand ready to be used and scarified as he preferred, at his own advantage- and paying the price she did, losing herself, losing her self-respect, losing her faith and her heart to man who didn't deserve it, couldn't give it to her- and didn't want to.

Still, she kept studying him, kept staring at him, and still, Jane refused eye contact, refused to acknowledge her very presence with his conscious mind. His demeanor, though, betrayed him. because Patrick Jane could say many things about himself, but he was physical, his mind was a fortress, but so wasn't his body- his body was his tell, and right now, he was saying- screaming- that he didn't want her there, couldn't allow himself to bath in her presence. Because as much as he had tried to forget about his past, he had realized he just couldn't, could just put it aside, in a little corner, waiting for the instant it would be back with a vengeance, breaking him furthermore, little by little.

"So, what, Patrick, you aren't going to reply? Too coward to even doing so?"

"Yeah, what the hell are you waiting for? Put that woman of yours back in the place she belong!"

He didn't acknowledged her presence, but his poker pals- and the girls- did so in his place; one by one, grunting or murmuring or making fun of him, they left the table, leaving him all alone, alone with her, alone with his past, alone with his failures. For a brief, cruel instant, he wondered if she felt that way as well, on his presence, a failure, because, frankly? He was quite disappointed with himself. He had manipulated Sophie into healing him- into believing she had healed him- just because he wanted, needed to pursue his vengeance, needed to kill Red John, and yet… he failed. A whole year of effort, all for nothing.

"Tell her I'm not coming back" his voice was small, but harsh nevertheless, it sounded like the broken shell of a man, a man with nothing to lose. Something that scared her. Patrick always had something to live for, but now? Now…

He threw the cards away, and drank a bit of his beer directly from the bottle, feet on the table like she wasn't there; Sophie brethren in and out soundly, at closed eyes, wondering yet again what she could do for the man and if she had ever done anything for him at all, and like never before she felt like a failure, she felt played, used. Of course, back then she used to know who and what Patrick Jane was, but still, she had thought, hoped….

Maybe, she and Lisbon weren't so different after all, both blinded by their own feelings for the man, both hell-bent on saving him from himself and his past, both wonnabe saviors, saint, even if she, despite the age difference, she loved Patrick like a son, while Teresa, she was so much in love with him that she was ready to suffer if it meant seeing him happy; it was the kind of love that Patrick didn't deserve, she realized with anger, because Patrick Jane was never going to give anything back, he was always going to take, take and take, always asking for more, always demanding and expecting, and Teresa Lisbon was the kind of woman to accept everything, anything, for his own sake- even his insults, his hate.

"Since you are not going to vanish just because I'm pretending you are not here, I'll say it again: tell her I'm not coming back."

She clenched fists and teeth, wondering why they kept seeing him as worth saving; Jane had been an egotistical jerk in youth, and here he was again, being one once more. She knew and understood trauma, but there was a part of her who couldn't stand the disrespect, how he was threatening them like dirt, and yes, she had also wondered if he had "behaved" just to get what he wanted from them. And yet…

Yet, as a doctor, she understood trauma and she understood Patrick Jane, knew of his uprising, how he da lacked any emotional- And moral - Bond and compass while growing up; Jane had never knew how to deal with his own emotions, he barely had them, and had been the center of his own universe for a long time.-until Angela and Charlotte had turned into his focal point; they had been the only good and honest thing in his life, he had once confessed her, they had started to shift his balance, to heal his emotional wounds, slowly making him a better man, a man who conned people for a living but who at least did so to give to his beloved ones what he had missed and lacked of himself. And then, they died, died because of him (or so Jane had decided) and his focus had become Red John- finding him, killing him- and now, now Red John was gone, gone because someone else had pulled the trigger, and he felt like he had failed them once again.

Yet, a part of her still understood him, thought that she could still help him, that he was worth being saved, that was why she had to stick with him, no matter what.

But it didn't mean she had to be nice.

"Teresa told me you once told her you loved her" she paused, looking intently at him for any tell, not really expecting any, already knowing better, finally learnt from her past mistakes. "She thinks you said so to use her furthermore."

"Well, good to know she at least knows how to make her job semi-decently" He laughed, almost cruelly, and Sophie's heart constricted at the sight; this wasn't the man she had helped, the broken and desperate man who felt guilt and shame; this man, he bathed in his own arrogance, and in the pain he could infer on others, her included, Teresa included.

"She said you were behaving similarly during a fugues episode, which makes me think you are reverting to your old con-man persona." She almost lost her voice, but didn't, fought back the urge to cry, to scream, to run away. She had made a promise, and she was going to keep it, no matter what, because she knew: that wasn't Patrick. Patrick was hers to find behind this mask, this façade.

"That would imply that I did change at some point. Which, I didn't." He scrolled his shoulders with complete nonchalance, daring her to prove him wrong, grinning, thinking the impossibility of the fact.

"You know" she kept on, crossing her arms and facing him, visually challenging the man, feeling a strength she had never possessed in the past, not when she used to deal with him back in the days, not when their paths crossed in past. "I think you come here because you are scared. You knew that if you had chosen to stay there, you would have hurt her. But you also knew that she would have accepted it, staying at your side and suffering in silence."

"She took him from me" he hissed between clenched teeth, his bloody eyes focused on a bottle in front of him. His whole body tensed, and Sophie finally saw his tell, the only thing that could move the almighty Patrick Jane, Red John, the monster, his obsession.

"I think you went away to protect the both of you. You love her, but you don't want to allow yourself to, you don't feel like you can, but also because you know what could happen to you if you were to lose her as well."

"She took…"

"That's a lie and you know it!" she interrupted him, standing on her feet and looking at him in the eyes; she was no longer smiling, no longer having second-guesses, doubts of any kinds, there was just her anger towards this man, increasing by the minute. "Red John wasn't yours any longer, you have given up on him the day you saved Agent Lisbon's life by throwing away your only connection; you have given up on him every time you shared a piece of information with your team, every time you've been honest with them."

"I was just using them" he tried to remain cool, emotionless as he said so, but Sophie saw it, the slight tremble, how he hesitated, for just a fraction of second, to say so. here it was his tell, his everlasting mask back on.

"Do you know why you are falling into the deep right now? You've always needed something to focus on to believe you were in control of your own life; first there was the psychic act, then your family, last Red John, and now that he is gone, you are trying to use something that's familiar for you to be on top of your game once again, so you try to con people for a living just like you sued to. But, instead of being on top of your game like you used to be, you are in pieces. You are in pieces because you can't reconcile the man you sued to be with the man you've become. Because, like it or not, you've changed, that's why I don't think you were using them, and why I'm sure you were telling the truth to agent Lisbon." He chuckled humorlessly, and Sophie merely stood, feeling she had, finally, kept her end of the bargain, that she was now free to go. "Goodbye, Patrick, despite the circumstances, it's always good seeing you."

She was almost at the door when he called after her, his voice yet again filled with humor, but a bit broken nevertheless. "You know, I didn't remember you being that tough with me before.."

"You've never been such an ass before." She smiled, half-turned, her hands already on the doorknob, but when she saw his eyes, she saw something, not only pain and regret, but a light, true and honest, and an hint of amusement, the road to happiness, and something else…

When, outside, the chilly nightly air, mixed with red desert sand, hit her full force, Sophie Miller decided to reconsider her previous statement: she had promised Lisbon she would have talked with Jane, but didn't say anything about making him listen- apparently, though, she had done so.

Maybe she wasn't such a failure, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimers: **No, nor the characters or the show belong to me. And this time around, there is not even an original character to claim as mine…

**Notes: **Written for the reverse bigbang - on the Livejounal mentalist bigbang community , collaboration with **justlook3**, who provided the art that inspired and goes along with the fic; also, it may contain small references to past seasons of the show, and all my appreciation to everyone who alerted, favorited or left even just a word. you're so great!

* * *

There were many reasons why he should have never been there, he didn't have the right to invite himself in any longer, and even if he did, he wasn't so sure she still wanted him there- her place, her job, her life. But, somehow, he had to make it up to her; he knew harsher words had never been said, worst actions had never been made, but surely, he could find a way, there was something he could do to make it up, right?

Beside, Lisbon had asked Sophie's help, and Lisbon never asked for help, of any kind, nor to him or to others; she struggled, fought, compromised, but never, ever asked for help, and for help, to do such a thing, to come to such an height… it _had_ to mean something. It had to mean that his "powers" hadn't abandoned him in the hour of need, that he had red her right, that there wasn't something in the water, as Ardilles once said, but that said something was in her heart… love, love for him, and the strength and the compassion to forgive him for his words, for his actions: he had to believe he had been right, and that Sophie hadn't lied to him; he had to believe she would have forgiven him, in due time, allowing him to return to them- to her.

Still, he didn't know how to break the topic, that was why he had, probably, broken in instead of coming later looking for her, or waiting outside, or even going looking for her; there was no guarantee that Lisbon would have listened to him, she had no reason to, after all. Quite the contrary, actually. He shouldn't be there, he shouldn't intrude in her life further more.

He didn't deserve her; she was too good, always there for him, always ready to help him, to save him.

She didn't deserve him; he was too broken, probably beyond repair, he had always turned his back to her, he had lied to her, manipulated her, almost got her killed more times than he cared to admit, almost costed her everything she had ever cared for.

He shouldn't be there, and yet, he couldn't stay away; he had never truly changed, at heart he was still the self-centered, egoistical asshole he used to be when he pretended to be a (fake) psych to be under the spotlight; only, this time around, it wasn't the money he was after, the fame or the celebrity. He couldn't care any less about them.

He was after her. Only her.

He was after her, and the feeling of having someone grounding him, caring about him, protecting him, saving him- from himself and the world alike. He was after her and her smile, her scent of lemon and cinnamon, her strawberries scented breath as she breathed in and out to calm down after one of his stunts, the steady beat of her heart as they danced together on the notes of her favorite song from her teenager years (the one she never danced on with Greg), the feeling of her body, satiny skin on steeled muscles against his own…

He was after it, all of it. He _needed _all of it, not only craved it. It was more than just that, he had tried to live as he didn't need her, as he didn't know her, had never met her, but, at the end of the day, Sophie was right. He couldn't live like that man because he wasn't that man any longer, and he wasn't that man any longer because of her; he had tried, he had lied, but he couldn't go on like that any longer. it was Lisbon or death, and before that, a limbo. He wanted her, and he needed her. if only she still wanted him… he didn't know, wasn't so sure any longer, not after what he had said and done.

Once in her room, he skimmed over the duvet as he moved it out of the way, lying underneath the fabric; he closed his eyes as he breathed in her scent, inhaling the fragrance from her pillow, like to calm down, or to imprint it in his memory in case she didn't want him any longer, even if he still remembered it, as clear as the day, like he had left six minutes before, instead of over six months.

He didn't even realize he was falling asleep.

He woke up to a gentle sensation, a soft touch on his forehead, fingers skimming over his skin , moving away unruly curls, and warm, so much, peaceful warmth, the first rays of morning sun coming through the open curtains, kissing his face, bathing him in peace.

He opened his eyes just a fraction, peaking at the soft, but sad and worried, smile through semi-closed lids, and when she noticed his state, she made to leave her spot on the bed at his side, she made to move away, scared, maybe of him, maybe of what he could do and say, but he stopped her, he took her by the wrist, feeling her racing heartbeat under his fingertips.

They didn't talk.

He looked at her with the desperation of a dying man, and she answered with eyes that were telling a story of love, longing, sadness, fear, rage and relief all mixed together; he brought their joined hands over his heart, while she cupped his face with her free one, both silently crying.

They didn't say a word, merely cuddled each other, crying themselves asleep.

_The first time he had left the CBI saying he wasn't coming back, that time fired by Wainwright, she hadn't run after him, despite saying so to the man himself; this time, though, it was different, she understood it as soon as he had stormed off from the building, furious, without saying furthermore- she knew that if she was to let him go now, she would have lost him forever. _

_So, at 3 at night, thanks to a kid who loved cop shows too much, she was entering into his motel room- she already know that there was no way he was going to let her in on his own accord – just to find Jane randomly and carelessly throwing things into suitcases and boxes._

_"Great. So the almighty saint Teresa can't leave me live even here…" he hissed, chuckling darkly as soon as he got a glimpse of her reflection into the mirror. _

_"Jane…" she plead, again and again and again, getting closer and closer, almost touching him, just to recoil at the last second, like he could burn her, like he was burning._

_Or maybe, scaring her, with his red eyes, his crazy eyes, the eyes of a man who was, had been, ready to do everything to get Red John, to kill him. Yes, she had always been a bit scared of him, but those eyes, they used to be tormented, desperate, now, now they were emanating just rage and hate. _

_"It's ok, Lisbon, you can stay. I was leaving anyway…"_

_"Jane, please…" she repeated once again, even if this time in her voice there was more desperation, more sufferance; she was broken, shattered, and to make him understand what he was doing to her, this time, she didn't give touching him, she reached out for him, hoping to bring him back to her, to ground him once again. _

_"Don't touch me!" he screamed, screamed on top of his voice, forcing Lisbon to let it go, to abandon the hold on his arm, to take steps back. "YOU THINK you know me? YOU THINK you can help me? There's nothing you can do, you've done enough!" he pointed, in accusation, a finger at her, hitting with every word Lisbon in the chest, right where her heart was, forcing her to take step back after step back, until her legs met the mattress, and she fell backwards, on the undone, dirty and cheap bed of his dirty and cheap motel room._

_And it was then, when she was lying on top of the covers, that his madness and rage turned into pure evilness incarnated, taking a turn for the worst, a turn she had never fathom before, like she had never met before the am she was seeing right now, a man she had valued a friend- the best of them all, even- the one she had dreamt about, the man she had fallen in love with, just loving him in silence, from afar. But that ma, it wasn't him. _

_"Well, you know, Teresa, maybe there's still a thing you can do for me, after all…" The sound of her given name on his lips didn't sound sweet and erotic, but like a game, like a play between evil children; he grinned and chuckled, darkly, as he discharged jacket, vest and shoes, calmly and methodically, joining her on the bad, on top of Lisbon, pushing the woman down in the mattress with his weight, effectively caging her with his arms at the side of her head._

_She bit her lips to not sob, and forced the tears back in her eyes, scared to encourage him furthermore with her pain and fear. She closed her eyes: on her lips, she could feel his hot breath, the sweetness and alcohol of a man who had drunken himself into a stupor, or into craziness and evilness. _

_"C'mon Teresa, it's not like you've never dreamt of this before…" he started to say, grinding his groin against her own, biting her lobe not erotically but a possessiveness she knew he had only harbored towards Red John. "How long it is that you want me, that you dream of me inside you, Teresa? I know it. Everybody know it. You want me so badly you've never even tried to control me. just because you wanted me… and wanted me to want you back." The touch of his hand on her breast through the fabric of her blouse wasn't gentle or arousing, but angry and forceful, so forceful it hurt her as he squeezed the tender flesh behind his palms, and with the pain, the fog clouding her mind, her senses, vanished, bringing her back to full awareness, awareness… and rage and sufferance. _

_Her fists were suddenly pushing him away, hitting his chest, her right knee colliding with his groin; he grimaced in pain, and she used her experience to take advantage of the situation and shift position, just to run off from the bed few seconds later, Jane still holding his privates in pain on the covers. _

_And then, he laughed, cruelly, maniacally. _

_"You know what? On second thought, you aren't good enough even for this."_

_"You said you loved me…" she whispered, her voice so low she didn't know if he could actually hear her or not. _

_"I lied" he chuckled. "I used you like I used everybody else to get Red John. And I would have used you right here, right now as well, just another warm body to keep me occupied while I regretted not having Angie's naked body on top of me."_

_She shook her head, covering her mouth to avoid throwing up, so strong was the disgust, for her, for him, for both of them alike. She just run off, crying all her tears in the security of her car, while, at her back, his cruel laughter was dying in the night, but following her nevertheless. _

Next time he woke up, Lisbon was on top of him, their chests pressed against each other, one of her hands busy gently and thoughtlessly caressing the skin left uncovered by the open button of his shirt; he could feel her heartbeat, could feel her breath on his neck, he could even feel the movement of her eyelashes against his skin, and everything told him the same thing: she was still tense in his presence, but whatever transpired that night, it wasn't there any longer. she wasn't scared of him any longer, but it was still a long way to go before he could have some forgiveness- especially his own.

She nuzzled the skin of his neck, feeling his hot breath on her forehead (no trace of alcohol), the sensation of soft and balmy skin under her lips (he was freshly shaved) and the smell and feel of new clothes, warm and soft, scented and comfortable, old fashioned but still.. him, the old him, the one she had feared that night was no more, had vanished and shivering, Jane realized that it hadn't happened when Sophie had tried to open his eyes that night in Vegas, nor when he first saw her after months away, but it happened long before that, even if that time, it had been for just an instant, one he had refused to acknowledge… the moment he saw her, at Red John's back, putting a bullet through his eyes, her, and not himself, the one with the knife, the cop on the job and not him, the husband and father of two victims, her, looking for justice, him, looking for vengeance…

She had killed Red John because it was her job doing so, if and when it come to that; he wanted to kill Red John because he needed, just like when he was a child, to be special, unique. People got killed every day, and they often- not always, but more often than not – arrested the culprit. People didn't ask to see whoever did that to their beloved ones killed - not so often, at least- but asked them to bring whoever hurt them to justice. They asked _them. _Not him, not her, them, together, a team, a partnership.

She had killed Red John, but if the maniac was dead, did it really matter who did it when it had been one of his own to do so? He didn't think so. it was just that… he had needed it to feel alive, to have a grasp, a balance, to get peace and forgiveness, but if who he needed forgiveness from was no more, did it really matter? He didn't think so. he thought that it was up to him to forgive himself, honoring the ones who trusted him, but he had to gain _her _trust back first thing first.

But was it even possible, after what he had said and done? He had told her he had used her all along, that she had been just a tool, and before leaving, he had… he had almost… almost…. What he had almost done to her could only qualify as rape, but still, here she was, playing with his curls, caressing his chest, breathing in his own essence.

She brushed her lips against his own, just seconds, and then met his eyes, whispering a plea of forgiveness; he silenced her with a finger, and shook his head with a sad smile, like to say, _silly woman, _then, gently, he put yet again his lips against her own, _c_areful to not scare her away, allowing Lisbon to take dominance when and if she felt like doing so – which she did, briefly, falling again against his chest.

Neither of them talked; there was no need to, no rush, and they now had all the time they could want.

It wasn't happily ever after, but it wasn't as happy as they could get either, it was a new beginning.

_Your life is precious, go on with that precious life. Find yourself a woman to love, start a family. _

And he had every intention of doing indeed that, starting now. Or at least, he had every intention of _working_ on it. With her help, alongside with her.

His new focus in life.


End file.
